


We're Gonna Sing It Again and Again

by anniebibananie



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon, F/F, So there is death but of the time loop variety, Time Loop, Vignettes, flowery language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniebibananie/pseuds/anniebibananie
Summary: Elia's and Lyanna's stories end. Then they start again.
Relationships: Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark
Comments: 23
Kudos: 44





	We're Gonna Sing It Again and Again

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a mini game of thrones rare pair march madness I ran last year (oops). I wasn't sure I was ever going to actually write it, but you can thank [this song from hadestown](https://open.spotify.com/track/2GMLTm3qlHmKkHnQA3wuRn?si=mL6gOowxTNeTLTwm-y6wRw) for re-inspiring me. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy! Please do not bother telling me how I messed up details about the game of thrones universe, i don't care!!

**_“'Cause here’s the thing_ **

**_To know how it ends_ **

**_And still begin to sing it again”_**

* * *

The End.

* * *

It begins again.

* * *

It all starts and ends and floats through the middle because of a curse or old magic or something that keeps them coming back over and over again to this moment. 

Elia sits. She knows how this goes, and yet sometimes it doesn’t. Time and all its intricacies are strange like that. Still she sits beside Lyanna and ignores the confused gazes. The princess shouldn’t be over here, not beside Lyanna. Not with what was going to happen yet again. 

“We’ve done this before, haven’t we?” Lyanna asks without looking away from the tourney. Her body is steely, resolved. 

“Several times, yes,” Elia answers. She dies, always dies no matter how much she aims to prevent it, and then she wakes up here. That day that had once felt like a betrayal or something adjacent to it—something like the start of a war—now just a beginning. An unavoidable touchstone. 

“Did you die again this time?” Lyanna asks. Now, finally, she turns towards her. Her eyes are so icy blue it still shocks Elia no matter how many times she gets this close. It seems like they should freeze you, but all she feels is warmth. Warmth so pervasive Elia can’t blame any of the men that have fallen over their swords in the name of Lyanna Stark. 

“Yes. And you?” 

Lyanna winces. “Yes. It’s hard. I don’t want your husband, Elia, but I do love my baby. I would like to hold him longer.” 

That Elia could do nothing but agree with. Her children... Gods, her poor children. 

“I don’t blame you,” Elia says. She’s wanted to say it to her before, but she hasn’t had the chance. 

Lyanna doesn’t respond, head turned toward the field, but she reaches out a hand and clasps it with Elia’s. When Elia looks up, following her gaze, she sees her husband on horseback. He comes closer, brow crashing in confusion over the pair. Making it all the more dramatic what happens next. 

Still, he gives the prize to Lyanna. 

* * *

It doesn’t always end the same. Elia has managed to last a few years beyond the first end. Take the children. Run until you’ve crossed every horizon. Never look back, but even that can’t last forever. 

She’s even managed to bring Lyanna with her a few times. 

Which is how Elia knows the curve of Lyanna’s bare back. The soft voice she uses to reprimand. The loving touch she gives after. Still, after all this unquantifiable time Elia still does not have what she is beginning to realize she wants above all else. 

This world was not made for women like her. Sure, Elia often feels the same about herself, but when she looks at Lyanna she is sure there is something greater they are meant for. Something beyond this. Otherwise, why would Lyanna look so perfect holding a sword? Why does she carry strength so well? 

“Thank you,” Lyanna says one morning. The children are asleep. Elia can feel the metaphorical sword pressing at the back of her neck, closer than ever, but when she looks to the side and sees Lyanna’s calm eyes looking out at their expanse of land, it dulls for a moment. What a beautiful moment. 

“What are you thanking me for?” she asks. 

Lyanna smiles. “For at least a little time with my son. To hold him, know him, love him.” She pauses, breathes. “For our slice of freedom, however brief it may be. I’m still not sure how you have even managed it.” 

“Well spoken.” 

Lyanna reaches out with a pinky finger which grazes Elia’s hand. She swears the breath catches in her throat. 

Two days later, Elia is coming up the hill from the river when she feels it — the tightening in her chest as if her lungs are expanding and imploding all at once. It’s a cruel twist of fate to feel her body give while the house is within sight. Lyanna, on the lawn with the children, head bent toward the sun. Just out of reach.

Half the times she’s run she’s been found. The other half has been this. 

It is sky all above her, blue and free. Elia takes a breath. Then she doesn’t. 

* * *

Elia can not always stand to watch her husband give Lyanna that prize. So she doesn’t. It’s easy enough, her health is fragile, and there is something comforting about being taken care of. Her maids fuss over her naturally, cooing and petting as if she was a child, and they tell her of the tourney's events. 

“He gave the crown to Lyanna Stark,” one says to her, “but it would have looked lovelier on you.” 

She hums, doubts that very much, and asks to rest. Her body is fragile after all, and the world is so harsh. It surprises her that she hasn’t been swallowed whole already, that she somehow makes it this long. 

Yet what she wouldn’t do for a little longer. To be a little freer. To feel a little lighter.

Later that evening, she hears the door open softly. “Where were you, Elia?”

She is not sure this is reality. She may well be dreaming or hallucinating. 

“Not well,” she says to the pillow. The bed shifts beside her. 

“Okay.” Hands on her face. “I wish I could sift the sickness out of you.” Lips on her cheek. It’s too hot, so hot, Elia can not decide what is real and what is not, but the lips on her cheek are ice cold. 

_Sift the sickness out of you._ If only, if only, if only. She wishes she could step out of this story and enter a new one, or at the very least enter none at all. But her children. Her beautiful, loving children who deserve so much more. 

“I will see you soon.” 

_Where_ ? Elia wonders. _When_?

* * *

Elia hates nothing more than the feeling of a cage growing smaller and knowing there is little to be done to escape. Every time she ends up in King’s Landing when the sack is close, she knows there is nothing but death and horror in front of her. 

She is cradled on the floor next to Rhaenys’s bed. Rhaenys is one arm, Aegon in the other, and she knows there is an inevitability. Gods, does she wish there was more she could do. That there was something to end this. 

“If only we had a dragon we could fly away on,” Rhaenys says. 

Elia takes a shaky breath. “Why don’t we close our eyes and imagine it, shall we? What would the dragon look like?” 

They sit there for what feels like days, imagining together. Eventually both of them fall asleep in her arms to the sounds of death below them. It will never not be terrifying, no matter how often she’s seen it.

In a turn of kind fate, the death is quick. She goes first, her children presumably after her. It is not Gregor Clegane who finds them, thank the Gods. When she dies, her chest tightens impossibly and then… it loosens. She hears the sound of her Rhaenys waking from a dream. Oh, the tragedy.

Elia sees dragons flying through the air as she takes her last breath, and beside her she feels… a wolf. Yes, a wolf.

* * *

The End. 

* * *

It begins again.

* * *

  
Elia sits. 

“We’ve done this before, haven’t we?” Lyanna asks without looking away from the tourney. Her eyes are teasing, but her lips are taut. 

“Perhaps a few times,” Elia replies. 

“I haven’t seen you for some time.” Lyanna eyes the tourney in front of them, though her gaze is practically glazed over. 

Elia tries not to stare, but there is something about Lyanna beside her that feels hard to ignore. Ignoring her the last few cycles has not dulled the ache in her abdomen, but it instead has tightened and brightened it. It is more acute, more alive, and Elia feels as if it could rip her in two. 

“It feels so inevitable, doesn’t it?” Elia asks. 

“Not to me. I don’t want it to.” Lyanna straightens her back. One of the lancers falls from their horse. “There has to be a way to stop the repetition, doesn’t there? Something to bring this to an end and let us be free.” 

“What possible freedom is there?” Something about the phrase feels so much larger than this circumstance and the curse. Sure, if they end the cycle they will be released from the tragedy, but for what? A finite death? Changing fate that drastically is impossible, not when the gods will it, and what was so good before this, anyways?

Elia loves her children. Elia feels a tenderness for her husband, despite what he has done to her (and in the moments she feels the angriest, she often realizes it is more for Lyanna than herself, but Elia has never been good at doing anything besides accepting her circumstances). Elia believes the world is capable of being beautiful, which is one of the few things that keeps her sane, but she does not believe it often _is._

“Do not tell me you have given up, Elia.” 

When she closes her eyes, she hears Aegon’s screams. She sees Rhaenys talking about imaginary dragons that will never save her. She thinks back on the moment she knew she would leave her home to go to a capital that is often ugly, dirty, weighed down by poverty. 

She is not sure if she was ever in the race to begin with, but Lyanna’s belief beside her dares to convince her. Elia is not a warrior, but Lyanna makes her believe she may be capable of it. 

Because sometimes when she closes her eyes, Elia also sees the curve of Lyanna’s back as she changes. She feels Lyanna’s hand in her own. Elia has never felt much beyond content because while she is a happy being she is not a particularly passionate one beyond her children. But that slip of smooth skin, that warmth, those blue eyes seem to ignite something in Elia she has no name for. 

It is beautiful, and it is dangerous. What an apt description for Lyanna herself. 

“No, of course not,” she says, though she isn’t sure she believes it. 

“We will figure something out, but first I must think.” Lyanna disappears before Elia can say goodbye, and without her at her side Elia goes back to where she is meant to sit. 

She receives a flower crown she knows was not destined for her, and yet she feigns her appreciation anyways. Some habits feel impossible to break. 

* * *

They try. _Gods,_ do they try. 

Lyanna’s imagination knows no bounds. She has plenty of thoughts on how they can change the outcome of their deaths and the war. Elia is not built for espionage or combat or for any number of things Lyanna suggests, but she is willing to try simply to keep that spark alive in Lyanna’s eyes. That spark that intrigues her because Elia doesn’t quite understand it, and she is certain there is something intangible in it that she never will. 

It is like there is fire in Lyanna’s heart, and it can’t be put out. Maybe ice. Strong, sharp, but beautiful and clear. No dragon’s fire melts her. 

Elia grows more involved in the game playing around her in an attempt to learn more for Lyanna, though little it helps. Lyanna tries letting Robert closer, tries sneaking into battle, tries playing this game as if it’s a chess match. 

Their lives keep spinning on and on, and the only thing that seems to change is how they leave this world. 

Elia is reading a historical text that is more boring than anything she has ever attempted before when she is brought the letter. 

_Dearest Elia,_

_What can be done that has not been done? I am beginning to think you might have had the right idea._

_In truth, what possible freedom is there? Even a break in this chain still leaves us powerless, women, fighting for a chance to simply exist in a world that does not want us the way we are by nature._

_I believe there may be a brighter world someday. I am just not sure we will get to see it._

_With all my love,_

_Lyanna_

Elia knows her lot in life, the life that was planned for her without her consultation, and in most ways she is content. She has sought merely to find joy in the moments she can, but _Lyanna?_ The thought of Lyanna losing hope in all possibilities is enough to bring Elia to arms, to fuel a part of her being she did not know was laying dormant for this. 

There will be more than this, at least for her.

* * *

Elia would sit, but there is no Lyanna. So Elia sits in her place of honor, waiting to watch matches she has seen a million times over. 

When her husband finally enters, there is a third horse that appears from beyond. Elia is surprised by how quickly she recognizes the body on its back, even more so by the sheer speed of the creature, and it’s like watching an explosion in slow motion. 

Prince Rhaegar falls quickly. His opponent falls even quicker. 

Elia stands, her body working on its own accord, and she screams in a wail that at some point becomes almost a laugh. Lyanna on her horse pauses, an avenging angel, and Elia wants to run toward her, hop on the back of the horse and run toward, toward… toward what? Just toward _something_ that is unexpected. But they’ve tried that, haven’t they? Elia intimately knows the way her own body eventually fails her. 

Guards surround Lyanna before she can escape, and Elia knows it is in part due to that fateful pause. Without thinking she grabs a sword from the waist of the guard beside her, runs forward as if it could change anything, and barely makes it several footfalls before she feels a piercing in her gut. 

“ELIA!” The scream is ripe, tender to the touch. How sweet to hear her name as the blood drips from her abdomen, and Elia falls to her knees. 

“Lyanna,” she whispers to herself, the tinge of blood on her lips, as she falls further onto her back. 

The sky above her is so blue, but not as striking as the cobalt of Lyanna’s eyes. 

* * *

The End.

* * *

It begins again.

* * *

“You can _not,_ ” Lyanna says. She has appeared from nowhere in the hallway, grasping onto Elia’s wrist and pulling her into an alcove’s darkness so no one can spy them. “How _dare_ you.” 

“How dare I? How dare _you_ ,” Elia begins. “You are speaking to a princess, if you don’t recall, and if you ever attempt something as foolish as that again I will, I will—” 

“It was an attempt fueled by folly, I am not too proud to admit that, but you can not put your life in danger, _princess._ ” Elia does not need light to see the half-smile, half-smirk on Lyanna’s lips. She clears her throat, the air around them growing tenser. “It was foolish. It didn’t work, but seeing you leap forward, I…” 

It takes no thought at all for Elia’s hands to find Lyanna’s face. She cups both cheeks, looking up at the slightly taller woman—the outline and half-visible image in front of her, and speaks with sincerity. “I know we must die, but I can not _bear—”_ Her voice cracks like glass on stone. “I can not bear to watch it, Lyanna. Please. Not for folly.” 

Before her next breath Elia is pushed against the wall, and Lyanna’s lips are on hers. They slot between her own easily, soft and wanting, but it isn’t long before they are hungry. That hunger Elia understands, her hands smoothing over Lyanna’s cheeks to dig into her hair, and her back arches naturally from the stone toward Lyanna. Always toward Lyanna. Wanting to be closer, wanting her, not understanding how or why or what. Just that it _is._

“Not for me,” Lyanna says between kisses, moving toward her jaw and then her neck. “You do not die for me.” 

There is no clear direction to Lyanna’s want, only that it is real and present and alive. It fills the space around them, and Elia feels her own similarly. She has never been brought so deeply to her base desires, everything else stripped around them. The world, the kingdom, even this curse that at times feels like a blessing is nowhere to be seen. 

It is Elia. It is Lyanna. It is them together. 

Lyanna pulls back for a breath, and Elia feels a laugh puff from her lips. Her breathing is sporadic, and she is not sure how to catch hold of it. “How are you even here?” she asks. 

“It is… a long story, to say the least.” Lyanna dips forward and kisses the tip of Elia’s nose. 

Elia never knew such a simple gesture could make her body feel feverish. She is sobered by the sound of footsteps. Her hand reaches naturally for Lyanna’s. “Tell it to me, but in my chambers. It isn’t safe here.” 

* * *

Elia’s hand in Lyanna’s hair. Teeth on her collarbone. A hand dangerously on her thigh, rolling upward. 

“How do you know what you’re doing?” Elia asks as Lyanna moves her lips downward, pausing over he naval before dipping further under the folds on her dress. Her voice comes out barely more than a breath. 

Lyanna lays her head against Elia’s thigh. The gesture feels natural. 

“I do not,” Lyanna says. Her cheeks are flushed, and Elia feels a tingle of pride at somehow being the cause of an icy Stark turning red. The white as snow skin has melded toward the warmth of her own home. “I listen,” she continues, licking at her thigh and smiling at the gasp Elia emits. “I think of what I would like, if I was lying where you were.” 

“I would like to try to make you feel good.” Elia’s words are nearly cut off with another touch that leaves her reeling. 

“You already have.” Lyanna crawls up her body and kisses her again, Elia not knowing how to respond but to wrap as much of herself around Lyanna as possible. It feels as if they can not be close enough, as if Elia wants to be consumed entirely by Lyanna simply to lay in the inner curve of her body. Everywhere they touch there are sparks. “You can try later, but first…” 

The words trail off. Elia gasps. 

* * *

Time is indistinguishable, slick even. Just as Elia feels she’s gotten any hold on it, it’s already slipping away. She is tired of being in this bed, under the sheets when the arid air flutters like still death. More often than not when Elia is awake she is hallucinating. 

The fever strikes like a hot iron, shocking Elia’s body without warning, and most of the time she is not sure what is real and what isn’t. She knows she’s home in Dorne—when the sickness grew, Elia was sent away for protection and recovery. She had been told the air in the city was doing nothing but worsen her condition. 

Yet the people who walk in and out, the voices she hears, the dreams that flash on the back of her eyelids in awake, feverish hours all seem there and not. Elia has never trusted her own body and mind so little.

She dreams of her daughter growing tall, shiny hair floating around her like armor, walking through the world with nothing stopping her. Elia can imagine how power can become corrupting when you have it, and how those with it would do anything to hold onto it. She can imagine how it would become corrupting for those without it, too. She is nothing more than a cog in a machine, but Rhaenys… oh, Rhaenys. The things she could do given the chance. There are certain traits of hers that remind Elia of Lyanna in the oddest of moments. 

Some women can stop the world if only given the chance. 

“Sleep, Elia. _Sleep._ ” The words sound like Lyanna, but Elia can’t open her eyes to see. She isn’t sure if she’s imaging the feeling of a hand in hers, but it doesn’t actually matter. 

Real or not, Elia knows the way their hands fit together. The teasing smile that could easily adorn Lyanna’s lips. The intricate ways Lyanna will pull her hair just to get it off her face. What Elia would do to dip her fingers into her hair and feel the heat of her scalp beneath the pads of her fingers. 

“I love you,” Elia says to open air. It doesn’t sound like her own voice. “I love you.” 

There is something about dying at home that is peaceful, almost lovely. Something that feels right. 

* * *

When Elia sits, Lyanna takes her hand and holds it with a python grip. “Let’s run. We have to do it now, just us.” 

For anyone else, there would be questions, but for Lyanna there is only a nod. Lyanna whispers directions on what to grab, and Elia tells her the best pathway to meet at to avoid eyes before they use tunnels beneath the castle. In her first life, Elia would have never known all the secret pathways of this place, but for Lyanna she has spent lifetimes dissecting every corner of stone in case it could help. 

It’s surprisingly easy to escape, and the two of them ride horses they’ve bartered for with stolen goods several towns away from the city for weeks to months. They ride until there is barely anywhere left to go, and then they settle. 

Lyanna is able to set up as a healer, and Elia does her best to learn the herbs and berries she can collect in the forests around to help. Together, they learn what they need to learn to keep themselves afloat, but mostly they stay to themselves. 

They live as if there was never a world before this one, and they’d never known the luxuries of castles and the noose of futures they did not partake in planning. No news of a rebellion comes, but Elia isn’t sure if they are simply too far away to hear anything about that faraway land that was once home. Some days she thinks about her children and feels guilty, but most of the time she thinks they are better without her. If not, she will see them again before long. 

“I love you,” Elia says one morning as she cuts an apple to thin slices. The words have no connection to any conversation, but the sight of Lyanna bent forward and lacing her boots had triggered teh words. 

Lyanna looks up. “You love me, do you?” She smiles as she stands and makes her way toward Elia, looping her arms around her waist from behind and resting her chin on Elia’s shoulder. “Of course you love me, and of course I love you.” She kisses the spot where Elia’s neck meets her collarbone, and then she taps at Elia’s heart. 

As if to say _we are the same._ Or _this is mine._ Or _you could pierce yourself through the heart and it would go straight through to mine, you and I are one._

“Thank you for telling me.” Lyanna’s lips are speaking over the back of Elia’s neck, and the sensation roams down her spine. 

“I love you.” Elia feels as if she can’t say anything else, and she forgets the apple to wrap her arms around Lyanna’s. “I love you.” 

They both hold on tighter, swaying in the kitchen, before Lyanna must be on her way. But she will return because they have years of this life. They grow older, and Elia sees gray hair for the first time in all her decades of existence from her own head. 

There is a routine, a life, and there is so much beauty. Ten years. They almost have ten years before Lyanna goes to sea to fish and falls beneath the waves without a trace. 

Elia has never known heartbreak quite like this, and it feels as if every inch of her body is repelling from the rest of it. Not too far in the future her own health will fail again, and she will die, but first she wails and aches.

* * *

The End. 

* * *

It begins again. 

* * *

It has never occurred until now that maybe Elia is the sacrifice for Lyanna. Perhaps the way to solve this riddle doesn’t involve two happy endings but only one, and if Elia has to jump on a sword for Lyanna to survive one she is more than okay with it. 

When she can see her husband, she tries to convince him not to participate in the tourney. She tries to find ways to make sure Lyanna is halted from being there. There are many ways to twist the story only a few degrees, make sure two paths that could cause devastation never cross. 

And if it means treason, what of it? 

“Do not risk so much for me,” Lyanna says, dark clouds in her eyes. “You once told me the same, did you not?” 

Elia doesn’t know how to explain that it isn’t the same thing. There are no words, but Elia’s thumb trembles as it rolls around the scoop of Lyanna’s bottom lip. 

“Neither of our lives are worth the other’s death. That is the pact we made with I love you.” 

_That_ Elia can’t argue with. She dips forward to kiss her instead, misses the taste and feel of Lyanna when it’s been years and lifetimes since she’s been able to indulge. Her lips are warm and pliable, and Elia pulls her as tightly to her body as she can manage. Lyanna is so smooth, ladylike, where Elia is flat and compact. Somehow they fit together perfectly. 

“I love you,” Lyanna says as she pulls back, putting Elia’s face easily between her palms. “I love you.” It is said almost sharply. 

Elia takes a deep breath and nods. “I love you.” 

* * *

Elia spends a whole lifetime following Rhaenys through the halls, watching her be taken care of. Spends others trailing Aegon the same. Elia has spent whole weeks laying on her balcony and soaking in sun like a lizard on a rock. There have been days spent in the tub, others reading her favorite book from start to finish before starting again. She has sucked every juice of joy she can from her situation, and at times she wallows, too. 

Still, there is always Lyanna and the opportunity to try again. 

* * *

Another lifetime. Another escape. Elia and Lyanna are in a one-room home in the middle of nowhere, barely big enough to give them respite from one another though they don't often need it. It has been months since they’ve seen another human being. 

Earlier they had pulled weeds from their flower garden before laying satiated in the dirt as wildflowers floated in the wind around them. That was before Elia worked on a dinner so beautiful they took every bite slowly, savoring it on their tongues as the sun set outside in warm hues. 

“Lyanna,” Elia asks. She is in a half-haze, pulling the warm sheets further around herself to fight a chill on her spine. 

Lyanna is on her back, one arm thrown to her side while the other holds her stomach. She is catching her breath, and there is sweat still at her temples. The sight of it snaps Elia to the image of her between her legs, kissing a delicate spot on her inner thigh she wishes could be marked there forever. 

“Yes?” Lyanna moves the hand from her stomach and brings it toward Elia, who grasps it to place a kiss on the palm. Her fingers are so elegant, Elia often imagines them doing mundane things simply to remind herself Lyanna Stark is human. 

“Have you ever thought that perhaps there is no way to end the cycle?” 

Lyanna huffs. “That sounds like accepting defeat. You can’t lose hope, Elia _._ ”

“No, no, you misunderstand me.” Elia breathes deeply, and she can smell the flowers by the windowsill she’d cut earlier to bring inside. Fresh and sharp. “Maybe it’s not about ending it. Maybe it’s that we get the chance to begin again, hoping beyond reasonable measure that it might turn out another way this time. Maybe that's why it’s beautiful.” 

Turning on her side, Lyanna’s eyes look alert again. Elia almost feels bad for lifting the happy fog they’d been floating in. 

“I have always thought the world was an unforgiving, cold thing,” Lyanna begins, “but when you talk about it there’s something altogether buoyant. You are too kind, too light, too beautiful, and I wish for more than this for you, but if this has all been to bring us here together… Elia, I have no ill will toward whatever it is that keeps us cycling again and again. I would die a million more times to get to lay here beside you and kiss your smile.” 

“Lyanna,” Elia says, but it is closer to a prayer. “ _Lyanna._ ” She reaches forward, traces her finger over the bridge of Lyanna’s noble nose and down to her lips. Elia dips forward and places a feather-soft kiss on her lips. “Lyanna.” Almost a whisper, a secret, almost not there at all. 

“You make everything make sense,” she whispers into the curve of her shoulder. “I did not love until I knew you.” 

When they kiss, it feels almost as if time stops and shutters around them, bowing to their love.

Saying briefly, _I see you_. 

* * *

It ends. 

* * *

_It begins again._

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/anniebibananie) or [tumblr](http://anniebibananie.tumblr.com/) <3
> 
>   
> [reblog this fic and its photoset here.](https://anniebibananie.tumblr.com/post/639949628451831809/game-of-thrones-au-elia-lyanna-canon-time)


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